Why Do I Stay?
by charmed7293
Summary: When it first started, it was easy to pass off as a one time thing, as something Pitch would never do again. Down the line, it became harder for Jack to make excuses and he found himself asking why he even bothered. abusive blackice
1. Chapter 1

This is just something I've been posting on Tumblr for the past couple weeks and decided to share here, since I haven't posted anything in a while. I will respond to everyone's lovely reviews in the last chapter of The Dark in You and the alternate ending, but I haven't had much time for anything other than quick things like this. There's a couple parts already written that I will post over the next few days. Starts off really short because I only intended for this to be an angsty drabble, but then I kept getting ideas. I have a few more and know where this is ultimately going, but if anyone wants to see anything specific let me know in a review or something.

Warnings for **abuse**. Future chapters will have more warnings, as well as warrant a rating change.

* * *

Pitch didn't even remember what had started the argument. It was obviously insignificant, but when it began it seemed incredibly important. Jack too stubborn and Pitch too prideful to let it go, they allowed things to escalate from harsh words on the couch to nearly screaming in the kitchen.

Jack was making his point for the umpteenth time and Pitch was ready to refute him with the same thing he had been saying all night, when something inside Pitch snapped. He was sick of listening to Jack, annoyed at not having his way, and done with this entire argument. The next thing he knew, his fist was flying and Jack was sprawled on the floor, eyes wide with shock as he put his hand to his cheek.

Pitch immediately knelt by his side, apologizing profusely and hovering, sure Jack wouldn't want his touch, but offering it anyway. Jack assured him he was fine, it was fine, everything was fine and let Pitch cup and tilt his face with long-fingered hands to examine the slowly darkening skin.

Though it was only a bruise, Pitch felt incredibly guilty and took extra care in helping Jack to bed. He seemed to enjoy the attention and quickly fell asleep under Pitch's hair petting and reassurances of love.

Pitch tenderly ran his finger from Jack's temple to his jaw, tracing the outline of his bruise. When they first started dating, he swore he wouldn't allow anyone else to ever touch Jack, though he never quite thought it would be touching to _hurt_ him and certainly not coming from himself.

Swearing to never do that again, Pitch leaned up and brushed his lips over Jack's dark cheek. He pulled Jack close and tucked his head under his chin, falling into an easy sleep.


	2. Chapter 2

Another short bit. The next part is longer, adds more warnings, and bumps the rating up.

* * *

It was always the same—the same apologies, the same excuses, the same broken promises. Jack honestly wondered why he stayed most of the time, but then he remembered how loving and caring Pitch could be and convinced himself that Pitch will act like that all the time again. Jack just needed to wait for him.

So he avoided stirring up trouble by staying out of the way and being compliant as possible. Pitch seemed to like when Jack was already at home when he arrived there, so Jack made extra effort to be such at that time. He had to cancel plans a couple times, which left Tooth and Aster a bit disappointed, but it was worth it because it made Pitch happy. He would smile and kiss Jack in greeting so tenderly that it barely stung his split lip.

One day, he was so caught up in a conversation with Tooth that the time Pitch got home slipped by without his notice. Jack didn't realize until fifteen minutes later, when it was too late. He bolted from Tooth's apartment with barely a goodbye and sprinted to Pitch's house—no, to their house, it was still their house. If he wasn't home, Pitch would get worried and anxious and when he got anxious he got agitated and when he got agitated he got angry and when he got angry . . .

Jack paused outside the front door for a few moments to catch his breath, trying to mask the fact that he ran all the way there. He stepped inside and closed the door silently behind him. There was no way he could pretend he had been here the entire time, so it would be best to find and confront Pitch as soon as possible. Jack tiptoed into the living room. He should still be quiet; anything could set Pitch off at this point.

"Where were you?"

Jack spun around to see Pitch standing in the doorway he had just walked through. He had probably been watching the door, waiting for him to come home. Jack didn't like the expression on his face. Well, rather, lack of expression; Pitch's silent and stony anger was only the calm before the storm.

The longer Pitch's anger stewed the less likely he would calm down and the worse the explosion would be. Jack was about a half hour late at this point, so the only thing he could really do was apologize. "I'm sorry. I know I'm late—and I'm sorry—but I just lost track of time while talking to Tooth—"

"You were with _her_?"

Jack wanted to respond to Pitch's anger with his own, to insist that Tooth was his best friend and nothing was going to happen between them, but that would only make things worse. "Sorry, I know you don't like her, but—"

"If you know that then why were you with her?" Pitch crossed his arms and paced closer. Jack took a few steps back and slumped his shoulders, trying to appear as small as possible. Maybe Pitch would take pity on him or realize he didn't mean anything by it.

"She's my friend," Jack said meekly.

"I'm your boyfriend and I've told you not to see her anymore."

"Okay." There wasn't much more he could do than agree. At least Pitch seemed to be winding down, so violence was unlikely now.

"I don't see why you have to be difficult, Jack," Pitch said, turning away as the tension melted out the lines of his arms and shoulders. "I don't ask much of you."

Jack sighed. "I'm sorry."

He cautiously took a step closer to Pitch, feeling it was safe to approach him now. He reached out to touch him, but Pitch suddenly pulled him into a hug before he could initiate contact.

"It's okay, Jack. You're here now, back home, where you should be."

Jack nodded and leaned into Pitch, though he winced slightly at the way his tight grip pressed against the handprint-shaped bruises on his upper arms. He liked this Pitch. He reminded Jack of first dates and passionate kisses and promises of a happy future. He gave Jack hope they would experience all that again. Jack just had to take steps to ensure he was around as much as possible.


	3. Chapter 3

In which Pitch is even more terrible than usual. Eli, my beta, didn't beta any of these, but she did read them and suggested the hand thing in this chapter.

Additional warning now for **rape** and I've changed the rating to M.

* * *

Jack let out a huff of laughter as Pitch kissed his neck, tickling him with his stubble. He nuzzled his back against Pitch's chest and sighed in sleepy contentment as the arm around his waist pulled him closer to Pitch's warm body. He let his eyes slip closed, exhausted from a long day spent cleaning the house so Pitch wouldn't complain when he got home from work.

Pitch seemed to have different plans though, continuing to kiss Jack's neck and moving up and across his jawline to his mouth. Jack turned away slightly, just enough to indicate he wasn't receptive. When Pitch tried to kiss him again, Jack flopped a hand over his own mouth to keep him at bay.

"Not tonight," he said, voice muddled by sleep. "I'm too tired."

"You don't have to do anything," Pitch said softly.

"I'm too tired to be in the mood."

"Like I said, you don't have to do anything," Pitch repeated firmly. He was starting to sound angry.

Keen to placate Pitch, Jack turned to him slightly and said, "I would rather wait until I feel up to actively participating, wouldn't you? It's always better when—"

"Jack, any kind of sex is great as long as it's with you. And this would be with you."

Pitch was using that condescending tone again, the one that made Jack feel like his protests were completely irrational and invalid, no matter how strongly convicted he had been moments before. But he recognized it and wasn't going to let it get to him this time.

"Pitch, please, not right now, I'm really—"

"Jack, it's just one night."

"And you can't wait one night for me to really _want_ to?"

"Not for _you_, Jack. I'm insatiable for you."

Jack's eyes fluttered closed again, not out of sleepiness, but from the purr of Pitch's voice and his resumed neck-kissing, which now included the occasional nip or suck.

Jack bit his lip. Pitch was nice right now and Jack needed to keep him in that mood. The best way to do that would be to go along with what he wanted.

"Um, okay, I guess."

Jack gasped as he was very suddenly flipped onto his stomach. His ribs were still sore from being shoved into and held against a wall the other day, so he pushed himself up on to his elbows and knees, taking the pressure off his chest. Pitch, obviously pleased with this new position, ground against Jack's upraised ass.

He was also apparently very eager, quickly kneeling back and grabbing the lube from the bedside table. Jack's boxers were pulled down so fast he swore he got fabric burn, but that burn was the least of his worries as Pitch shoved two lube-coated fingers inside him.

It had been a while since they last had sex, at least a week, and Jack wasn't prepared in any sense of the word. The burn of the stretch was more of a stinging pain and Jack could only breathe through it as he struggled to relax. He daren't say anything to Pitch, as he would probably just make a comment about how they should have sex more often if it hurt him that much.

He whimpered as Pitch moved his fingers in and out, thankfully not stretching him right away, but Jack still wasn't adjusted. Pitch's other hand pushed his shirt up to bare the skin on his back and the following kisses laid on his shoulder blades would have been comforting if they weren't immediately followed by Pitch's fingers stretching him.

With another whimper, Jack dropped his head down onto his forearms and gripped the sheets with his fingers. This may hurt now, but if he didn't let it happen it would hurt more later, whether Pitch penetrated him with so little preparation or hit him for not going along with what he wanted.

Pitch shushed him, free hand rubbing up and down his side and Jack hated himself for being calmed by it, even if it was only marginally. It was times like this, when his discomfort was so obvious—to himself and certainly to Pitch—that he wondered why he stayed. Glimpses of the old Pitch were becoming more and more infrequent, almost to the point where Jack wondered if he was still there at all. Moments where he did shine through seemed muddled, as if Pitch didn't remember how to be that person anymore. Jack kept telling himself those moments were worth it, not matter how few and far between they had become. He would never reach that Pitch if he gave up now.

The addition of a third finger ripped him out of his thoughts and Jack made an audible cry of pain. More soothing kisses were pressed to his back, but Jack barely felt them. He struggled to relax, to ease the pain, but his discomfort at the whole situation was impossible to ignore.

Pitch's hand wrapped around his cock and began stroking. Jack latched onto the welcome distraction, even though Pitch may later be angry about him not being hard yet. It took the edge off, though an ache still lingered, and gave Jack enough of a respite to shift his position to one more comfortable. Spreading his legs farther and pushing his ass up a bit more, Jack felt more open and less as if he was being split apart by the fingers inside him. It also presented himself to Pitch, which he had always liked; the responding growl from behind told Jack this time was no exception.

The hand around his cock tightened and moved faster as the fingers inside him crooked slightly, brushing against his prostate. Jack finally made a sound of pleasure, which continued into constant moans spilling from his mouth as Pitch kept at that angle. It made things much more bearable this time when Pitch spread his fingers.

Then Pitch pulled away and Jack knew it wasn't enough, but he was too scared of disrupting Pitch's pace to say anything. Pitch grasped his hips, pressing against another bruise there from when he had been pushed into a table. Jack winced and desperately tried not to make a sound, especially holding back pleas for Pitch to stop or slow down.

He felt the head of Pitch's cock nudge his entrance and he squeezed his eyes shut. He still couldn't quite relax and his attempts at controlling and steadying his breathing had long since dissolved into gasping, shuddering breaths. As Pitch stared to push in, Jack tensed, which only made him panic more, which in turn worsened his physical symptoms. Biting his lip with a force that nearly shredded it, Jack resisted crying out.

Pitch's hips finally met his ass and Jack couldn't hold back a chocked sob, though he tried to play it off as one of pleasure as opposed to pain. Unsure if Pitch bought it, Jack just clenched his jaw and willed back the noises he wanted to let escape.

Sheer willpower wasn't going to work forever, and Pitch's starting thrusts were already wearing on it. They were slow, but instead of bringing about gradual adjustment, they dragged out the torture. There was plenty of lube and Jack would have been stretched enough if he hadn't been so tense. Maybe he just should have relaxed more, should have said yes at the beginning, should have never denied Pitch.

A particularly rough thrust dashed those ideas away. _Pitch_ was the one who needed his actions controlled. Pitch shouldn't be forcing this upon someone he supposedly loved. Jack had no reservations about holding back his cry of pain. He was able to find his voice; it didn't matter that it was small and weak, just that it was still there. "Pitch . . . please stop, it hurts."

Jack wasn't sure if he imagined the following thrust as slightly rougher than the others. If he had then he got no reaction to his words. He decided to try again. "Pitch, stop—ah!"

That harsh thrust couldn't have been an accident or coincidence.

"You're hurting me," Jack forced out between clenched teeth and around another gasp of pain.

Pitch only grunted in response. It wasn't the sound of a grunt of anger, but one of annoyance. His thrusts picked up speed and Jack wanted to say something again, but his breath was stolen from him as each drive forward punched the air from his lungs, usually with a pained cry.

Pitch's fingers slid across his face, passing over his lips and reaching for his jawline on the opposite side, continuing until the palm was covering his lips and then clamping down, effectively muffling Jack. Jack's eyes widened and he tried to turn his head away, but Pitch's fingers clenched on his face, holding him in place.

Jack tried to talk, but he couldn't even make out his words, though he was sure they were a litany of _stop_ and _please_. His screams were also muted and used more air than he managed to take in through only his nose, so he quickly stopped that as well. He could only lay there and take it, hoping Pitch would finish soon and be done with him.

He let himself go numb, barely feeling the pain, both physical and emotion, but somehow acutely aware of the tear that slipped down his cheek and landed against Pitch's hand.

He didn't come back into himself until Pitch gripped his bruised hip tightly—no doubt making the bruising worse—and thrust deeply for a final time. The gush of hot liquid felt scalding inside him, but it was nothing compared to Pitch collapsing on top of him, pressing his aching ribs against the mattress. Jack moaned weakly against Pitch's hand still covering his mouth, using up precious air that he could no long seem to get into his lungs.

Pitch finally moved his hand away and rolled off him, moving them both back on to their original spooning position. Though it took the pressure off his ribs, they still felt crushed, particularly the side he was lying on. Pitch made a content sound and buried his face in Jack's hair.

Jack was too exhausted and in too much pain to do much more than pant, desperately trying to regulate his breathing. He struggled to stay awake, too afraid to let his guard down that much, but even the occasional twinge of pain from his chest couldn't keep his eyes open. Despite his resistance, his eyes fell closed as his mind unwillingly slipped into unconsciousness.

* * *

When Jack woke, it was to the smell of coffee, much too close to be coming from the kitchen. He tried to take a deep breath, but shocks of pain along his torso reminded him why that was a very bad idea. As vestiges of sleep slipped away, he remembered more and was very grateful that he appeared to be alone, the house still and quiet, and the bed empty with the covers pulled up to his chin and tucked around him.

Jack opened his eyes to see a steaming mug directly in his line of sight, set on the bedside table. Beside the mug was a bowl (no doubt filled with cereal), a plate of toast (pumpernickel, his favorite), and a glass of orange juice (no pulp, just the way he liked it), but his gaze was primarily drawn to the object centered on the tray: a small fluted vase containing a single red rose.

Resting against the vase was a white rectangle of paper, about the size of a business card. _Jack_ was printed on it, in Pitch's handwriting, embellished with a heart at the end of his name.

If Jack didn't fear the pain moving would cause, he would have gotten up and thrown the entire tray across the room. As it was, he didn't even want to risk rolling over so he wouldn't have to look at the arrangement every time he opened his eyes. He settled for squeezing his eyes shut and turning his face into his pillow, fighting off sobs that threated to bubble over and would no doubt hurt just as much as moving would.

Pitch always made things so complicated. He would be terrible like he had been last night, but then do something like this that showed he cared. Jack wasn't sure which one was the real Pitch anymore. Did he do something that made the kind person Pitch was he first met him turn into the monster he acted like now? Or had that kindness been concealing it all along, simply waiting for a willing target to unleash upon? And Jack had been more than willing, making excuse after excuse to himself and others.

But Pitch really _did_ care—didn't he? People got caught up in sex all the time; he probably didn't even realize what he was doing. Pitch wanted him so badly and that made Jack feel special, in a way. He liked receiving attention he never got from other people. At the same time, that attention was becoming increasingly negative, and not the kind he appreciated being shown at all.

He would just talk to Pitch about it later. They could work something out. Right now, he was too tired to really focus on anything. Stifling the last of his sniffles, Jack dried his eyes against his pillow case and tried to fall back asleep.


	4. Chapter 4

I forgot that I hadn't posted this one here yet.

* * *

Jack pulled the sides of his hood closer around his neck, shielding it from the biting wind. He didn't know where his scarf had gone, but it had been missing for a few days now. Not that it mattered much; he still needed to go out and buy supplies for dinner. Pitch had said _he_ would cook _Jack_ something tonight and gave him a shopping list. Jack was so excited and grateful that he didn't mind struggling through the high winds while exhausted and in pain to go to the grocery store.

They had stayed up nearly all of last night, Jack finally having brought up the "negative attention" he thought he was receiving, as cautiously and indirectly as possible. To Jack's shock, Pitch had apologized—the first time in a long time—and even admitted to losing his temper too easily. He had said that sometimes he realized he was hurting Jack, but couldn't do anything to stop it and Jack couldn't blame Pitch for something he couldn't control. That outcome was much more preferable to what could have happened—more pain—and Jack was glad he took the risk. Things seemed to be looking up.

That was apparent with the slow, gentle sex they had after talking. Pitch had held him so tenderly and so carefully and kept asking if everything was good and okay. It was the first sex Jack had truly enjoyed in months.

At hearing the clacking of hard-soled shoes approaching from behind, Jack moved to the side; he was going slow and didn't want to hold anyone up. The footsteps stopped at the same time a finger poked him in the side.

Time seemed to stop with a white hot flash of pain that spiked across his side, radiating from the spot the finger touched. All the air was forced out of his lungs and he couldn't draw more in, he couldn't even move or see or think and he didn't want to out of fear of making everything worse.

"Jack. Jack!"

The voice calling his name was familiar and he forced himself back into focus. He found himself bent over, nearly parallel to the ground, with his head hanging down. He was surprised he was still standing, to be honest. The ache in his ribs had been unrelenting since what occurred several nights ago, but he hadn't thought the damage was _this_ bad. He assumed some ribs were merely bruised, but this felt more like they were cracked or even broken. It would explain why it had been difficult to breathe.

"Are you okay? What's wrong?"

He had almost forgotten the other person there, despite them being the cause of his pain. Taking slow, shallow breaths, Jack straightened up and glanced in the direction the voice had come from.

Tooth's eyes were wide with alarm and her mouth hung open in shock. Concern was etched into the set of her thin, highly-arched brows.

"Jack, what . . ." she breathed.

"I'm fine," he said automatically.

"I don't think you are. You doubled over in pain after I _poked_ you."

"It's nothing."

"I haven't seen or heard from you in _weeks_," she said.

Jack paused before answering, wondering at the sudden change of subject. "I've been busy."

"For that long? Aster said he hasn't heard from you either and Jamie for even longer. Are you okay?"

Maybe it wasn't as much of a subject change as he thought. "I said I'm fine."

"No, you're clearly not!" Tooth continued to talk, words spilling from her mouth like a dam had burst. "The last time I saw you, you ran out of my apartment without so much as a farewell or an explanation. You didn't return any of my calls or texts and I would usually just chalk that up to you being busy, but not for that long. Apparently you only spend time with your boyfriend—"

"Sorry for being in a relationship!"

"Nobody cuts all their friends off for a relationship! Not a healthy one anyway." Tooth looked at him intently, searching his expression for any kind of reaction, but that was ridiculous. She wasn't going to find anything and there was no reason for anyone to be worried.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Jack said. "Pitch and I are perfectly happy."

"I never said anything about _you_ specifically. I was just saying in general, but since you brought _your_ relationship up . . ."

"Enough." Jack didn't want to have this conversation anymore. Okay, sure, maybe they did have some problems, but all couples fought and had disagreements from time to time. Not to mention that they were working everything out, so there was no reason to continue with this topic. Besides, Pitch asked him to stop talking to Tooth. That was one of the things they argued about the most, so he might as well start working on that right now. Jack turned his back on Tooth and started walking again. He shivered as the wind blew again, sending a twinge of pain through his ribs.

"Jack! Where do you think you're going!?" Tooth said, following after him. "Look, I'm sorry if that was a bit harsh, but we really need to talk about this."

"You don't want to talk. You just want to accuse Pitch of—"

"Why do your ribs hurt, Jack? Why don't you—or should I say _can't_ you hang out with us anymore? Just tell me. I can help you."

Jack stopped. He didn't know what to say to that. Deep down, he knew she was right, that he needed help, but he didn't want to admit it, not to himself and certainly not out loud. He spun back around to look at her, opening his mouth to say something, _anything_, to get her to stop, but a familiar car in the distance caught his attention. It approached fast before screeching to a stop right next to the sidewalk where he and Tooth were standing. The window was already rolled down, revealing Pitch's stern face.

"Jack, get in the car," he said in a tone that brooked no argument.

Jack immediately took a step toward the car, not wanting to give Pitch more incentive to be angry. He already looked furious and it was probably directed _at_ Jack.

Tooth's hand snagged on his sleeve. "Jack, no, please don't go. Let me help you, I can—"

"Leave me alone, Tooth." It hurt him to say that and her shocked expression made the ache in his heart worse. He didn't want to do this, but it was best for both their safeties. Raising his voice so Pitch would be able to hear him, Jack said, "I already told you I don't need help. And I don't want to talk to you anymore, so stop trying."

With that, Jack wrenched his arm out of her grip and closed the last bit of distance to the car. He didn't look back as he opened the door and climbed in, sure he wouldn't be able to leave her if he saw her face. He avoided looking at Pitch as well, out of fear he would run back to Tooth.

Jack had barely closed the door never mind buckled his seatbelt when the car peeled away from the curb. They sped down the street, going through a yellow light just as it turned red. Jack wanted to tell Pitch to slow down, but he needed to judge his mood first.

Chancing a glance at Pitch, Jack saw his brow furrowed and his jaw clenched, both signs of anger. He hadn't calmed down, leaving Jack to wonder if he would this time. As always, he also wondered why he stayed, living in such fear—and this time not only just stayed but actively returned to Pitch. It was because things were getting better, he told himself. He needed to be there to see it through.

Automatically, Jack said, "I'm sor—"

"I'm not angry at you, Jack," Pitch cut him off. Surprised, Jack looked at him again, for longer this time. Pitch's eyes flicked to him and his features softened for a brief moment before twisting again as he looked back at the road. "You did the right thing. I'm angry at _her_, daring to speak to you when you've made it clear for her not to."

Pitch took his right hand off the steering wheel and placed it palm up on the center console. Smiling, Jack slid his hand into it, interlacing their fingers. His smile grew as Pitch brought their hands up to his lips and kissed the back of Jack's. Pitch's own smile appeared and lingered and Jack squeezed his hand. It was so rare that Pitch was genuinely happy these days, and even rarer that Jack was the reason.

The car slowed to a safer speed and Jack relaxed. He didn't need to worry about getting into an accident on top of Pitch's anger. Pitch's thumb rubbed soothingly over the back of his hand and Jack leaned his head back against the headrest, letting his eyes slip closed.

"I came home from work to take you out to lunch," Pitch said softly. "When you weren't home I assumed you had gone out to get the groceries, so I went to go find you so I could give you a ride back. Lucky I did, too, just in time to catch her harassing you."

Pitch's words ended with a growl, making Jack uneasy again. "But nothing happened. Everything's fine now—_Pitch_!"

Jack was just barely able to warn Pitch as a car pulled in front of them. Pitch slammed on the breaks and Jack jerked forward, belatedly remembering that he hadn't put his seatbelt on. He saw the dashboard rushing toward his face, but Pitch's hand was suddenly gone from his and splayed across his chest, catching him from slamming into the hard plastic, but also pressing against his ribs. It felt like bones were grinding against _something_ inside of him and Jack couldn't stop himself from crying out. His eyes were wide, but he saw nothing, blinded by the pain streaking through his torso. Winded, he gasped for air, but even those shallow breaths hurt.

"Jack!"

For the second time that day, Jack latched onto a concerned sounding voice to drag himself out of the pain. Turning his gaze to Pitch, he was shocked to see a horrified expression on his face.

"Shit, that idiot doesn't know how to drive—why weren't you wearing a seatbelt!?—what happened—why are you hurt—we're going to the hospital." Words tumbled from Pitch's mouth, flashing between concern and alarm and anger so quickly that it left Jack's head spinning. It was already spinning anyway, but this made it so much worse. Then he processed the last thing Pitch had said.

"The hospital?" he wheezed. They couldn't go there. Doctors and nurses asked too many questions, questions Jack couldn't answer, at least not truthfully, and Pitch _must_ know that.

"Yes. You're obviously injured and I can't allow you to walk around like that."

Jack simply nodded. There was no point in arguing with Pitch and he really did need to get his ribs checked. When people started asking questions, he would find a way to answer them. He wouldn't let them separate him and Pitch.


	5. Chapter 5

These are probably going to come a lot slower now, since I have some other projects I want to finish up first and will be incredibly busy the next couple of days (as I have been the past few, which is why I haven't answered reviews yet, but I will!). The next chapter is probably going to be from Pitch's POV, which will give a nice insight into how fucked up things are.

Obviously, the **abuse** warning is still in effect, but I want to add **victim blaming** for this chapter. While it's something that is very common in abusive relationships and has been subtly present in the past couple chapters, it's more obvious here.

* * *

Jack stared nervously at the doctor—Doctor Miller, as she had introduced herself when she entered the room. She was busy reading something on a clipboard, so he switched his gaze to his X-rays, up on the lighted display. Some showed his entire torso and others focused on his lower chest, but Jack had no idea what indicated good or bad, so he tried to avoid thinking about it.

Doctor Miller finally looked up from her clipboard, glancing at Jack before turning her attention to the X-rays.

"You were pretty lucky, Mr. Frost. Your ribs are only cracked," she said, taking out a red marker and circling several places on one of the close up X-rays, "and only in these areas. Any more pressure and they would have broken."

Jack stared at the three red circles and the thin lines of black that interrupted the white of his ribs within them. He really didn't see how "only" fit his situation, but he supposed it could be worse: broken, as Doctor Miller had said.

"Easy to fix, just some wrapping to keep things in place, but aftercare is very important. No strenuous physical activity for at least a week and be careful of any kind of contact in that area," she said and, after a pause, continued, "Mind telling me how this happened? I read it in the report, but I like to hear from the patient themselves, just in case they forgot any . . . details."

The scrutinizing way she looked at him made Jack's blood run cold. She _knows_.

No, he couldn't jump to conclusions. He needed to keep a level head and calmly explain what happened, the version that he came up with at least. He didn't want to get separated from Pitch, couldn't let that happen. They loved each other, even if Pitch had difficulty showing it sometimes. Jack took a deep breath and then winced at the way it expanded his ribs.

"I was driving to the grocery store with Pitch—"

"The man you came in with?"

"Yes."

"And what is his relation to you?"

"He . . . he's my boyfriend. We live together."

"Okay, please continue."

"We were just driving and someone suddenly pulled out in front of us. I forgot to put my seatbelt on, so when Pitch slammed on the breaks I kept going and hit the dashboard."

"The car must have been going pretty fast to cause that much damage."

"Yeah, we were probably speeding, but Pitch is a good driver. It was my fault, really. I should have put my seatbelt on."

Doctor Miller narrowed her eyes a bit and Jack resisted biting his lip.

"And that's . . . it . . ." he said in a small voice, letting it trail off.

"Okay then. If that's how it went, there's just one more thing I need to address. You have some impressive bruising across your entire upper torso, specifically the area around your cracked ribs. While that's expected with such an injury, it's mostly older bruising that has already started to heal, rather strange for an injury sustained just today."

Jack didn't know how to respond to that. He had gotten a glimpse of his blue and purple chest the morning after _that night_, when he had finally worked up the courage to move, but he had avoided looking since. In his efforts to pretend it didn't exist, he had actually forgotten.

He opened his mouth to respond, but he couldn't think of anything to say. Everyone always told him he was quick witted, so where was that now?

"Is there anything else you want to tell me, Jack?" Doctor Miller asked.

"I-I don't understand what you mean." This was getting dangerous. Doctor Miller clearly suspected something, but she most likely couldn't act on it unless she got some kind of confirmation from him.

Well, there was nothing to confirm! Everything was fine, so she was just wasting her time—and _his_. The sooner he got to Pitch and got out of there the better.

"Can I go now? You told me what I need to do. I just want to go home."

Doctor Miller looked a bit disappointed, but she didn't say anything more on that subject. "Unfortunately we can't release you yet. We want to keep you for a few more hours for observation, just to make sure there's no internal damage. A nurse will be in to move you to a more comfortable room shortly."

Doctor Miller gathered up her clipboard and marker and moved to shake Jack's hand. Before letting go, she grasped it tightly.

"Don't hesitate to call me if you want to talk, okay? Just ask the nurse to get me. I'm only trying to help you."

Jack's mouth went dry. He stared at Doctor Miller's face, so open and honest, and thought of Tooth's face when she said the same thing. He didn't understand why people were so concerned. He could handle himself and there wasn't anything to handle, anyway.

"Okay," he said, nodding, not knowing what else to do.

Then Doctor Miller was gone and ten minutes later he was whisked away to his new room. The second bed was unoccupied, but the nurse still drew his curtain closed.

Jack lay back against the pillows, feeling very alone. He wondered when they would let Pitch come visit him, but then wondered _if_ they would. Doctor Miller's suspicions seemed to point at no. It made Jack doubt he needed to be kept for observation and that they were actually keeping him away from Pitch, probably in hope that he would call Doctor Miller and confess . . . something.

He didn't want people to interfere with him and Pitch. They were working things out themselves. It was only a matter of time before Pitch snapped out of whatever this was and turned back to normal and Jack couldn't help him if they were forcibly separated.

However, Doctor Miller's suspicions and intentions were not totally unfounded. Pitch was the reason he was in the hospital, not just because he brought him here, but because he was the cause of the injuries that led to Jack needing medical attention in the first place. Jack had walked around in pain for nearly a week, pretending that everything was fine when his chest felt like it was on fire and that was all Pitch's fault—

No! No, it wasn't. Pitch had already explained himself, had already said that he had trouble controlling his actions and Jack had already decided not to blame him for that. Jack was managing just fine before; sure he hurt, but things would have healed eventually. It wasn't like cleaning and cooking were strenuous activities and that was really all he did.

Now that he thought about it, it was likely that what happened in the car caused the worst of his injuries. The force of being thrown forward and Pitch's hand catching him could have cracked already bruised ribs. The damage would have been much worse if he had hit the dashboard, so Pitch had actually saved him from further injury. If he had just put his seatbelt on in the first place, he probably would have been completely fine, so really, it was all _his_ fault.

Gingerly shifting, Jack tried to get more comfortable, but found it nearly impossible between the plastic covering on the mattress and the pain in his chest. He stared up at the white ceiling, wishing Pitch would come take him home soon.

* * *

I wanted to ask that people give me some feedback here, just to give me a feel for things. Am I properly portraying an abusive relationship? What are your feelings on the status of things? What do you see happening, or want to happen? And _why_? I just really want to see what people think of my writing. I would very much appreciate it! Thank you!


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